


Tales From Arda

by amnevitah



Series: History Will Be Kind To Me [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Arda in the First Age, Arda in the Fourth Age, Arda in the Second Age, Arda in the Third Age, F/F, F/M, Gen, Grief, Modern Character in Middle Earth, Modern Girl in Middle Earth, Original Character Death(s), The Valar, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 08:51:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5660338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amnevitah/pseuds/amnevitah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fourteen champions of the Valar suffer the hardships of every age in Middle Earth. (part of the History Will Be Kind To Me trilogy)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tales From Arda

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this story on the back-burner for a good long while now. Over two years in fact. The structure and plot of this is pretty simple: Each chapter will follow its own modern-insert character, like a self-contained one-shot. Every character will be thrown into a different time and place separate from one another and center around their own individual stories. There are fourteen characters and thus we know going in there will only be fourteen chapters in all. No more, no less. Some chapters will be longer than others, and some will be shorter, depending on the story. So without further ado, I give you our first protagonist, Avery.

"A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness." - _John Keats_

* * *

 When Avery was nine, she awoke in a strange land, cold and afraid and so very, very young. But not alone. _Never_ alone.

Alassë. Her Guardian Angel. It had been he who had found her shivering in the woods. He who had dried her tears and carried her to the Nandor, the people who would become her family. He who would sing to her when the memories of her old life came to haunt her in the night. Even when she could not see him, she _knew_ he was there.

Watching.

* * *

When she was eleven, Avery broke her ankle falling from a tree. Her playmate, Celondir, had suggested a race to the top and Avery was anything if not stubborn, accepting his challenge with the recklessness of youth. And thus before the race had barely begun, a rotten branch had put an end to their contest and left the girl-child crying out in agony and Celondir running to retrieve help. Alassë had come then, as if he'd been there all along, soothing the hurt from her mangled limb and letting his golden hair fall around her face like a curtain.

"That was very foolish," He had said. His skin glowed as if lit from the inside and Avery could only stare in wonder, the pain in her limb all but forgotten. Even after two years surrounded by the beauty of the elves there was something about Alassë that left her breathless. He was a fey creature. Otherworldly even.

And he was _hers_.

She knew this. Knew it deep within the marrow of her bones. Alassë was here because of her and he would follow her all of her days. If she had been older the idea might've frightened her or at the very least conjured questions without answers. Why _was_ he here? Why was _she_? What made her so _special_ that he chose to be her constant shadow? But then, Avery did not ask those questions. To her, he just _was_. His presence in her life was as expected as it was extraordinary and she would accept nothing less.

"He _dared_ me," Avery said, as if that was all the reason that was needed.

Alassë laughed. "Indeed."

When her Nandorin kindred finally came to her rescue, he was gone again, as was his custom.

* * *

When Avery was fourteen, she heard whispers of the Maiar Queen of Doriath. A powerful and beautiful sorceress who had taken physical form to live alongside her lover, King Elu Thingol.

"A sorceress? Is she an elf?" Avery had asked, confused.

"No. She is no elf," her 'aunt' Dínengel had replied as they sat together mending a fishing net. "The Noldor call her a _maia_. A spirit from across the sea."

"A spirit?" The gears in her mind turned slowly. "Like…an _angel_?"

"An _angel_?" Dínengel said the word slowly, as if tasting it on her tongue. "Is that what your people call it?"

Thus Avery spent the better part of her afternoon telling all she could remember of angels and heaven from her sporadic visits to Sunday School with her grandparents. And later that night, as the stars began to come out of hiding, she deliberately called out her _own_ angel's name.

"Alassë?"

And suddenly she felt the familiar warmth and weight of him beside her and she glanced over noting how his skin and hair glowed silver in the moonlight. He didn't say a word, patiently waiting for her to speak.

"Are…are you a _maia_?"

Alassë looked down at her then, his eyes brighter than any star. "Yes."

The knowledge surprised her less than she thought it would. But then, she'd always known he was…well, _something_. Certainly not an elf, and _definitely_ not anything human. Still, it was nice to have a name for it now.

"And you're from across the sea?" Avery said the words, but realized she didn't exactly know what they meant. A lifetime ago, back in America, 'across the sea' meant Europe or Asia. What did it mean _now_ though? She knew the place she lived in was called Ossiriand and she'd vaguely heard of other lands beyond her forest home. Doriath and Dorthonion. Mithrim and Dor-Lómin. Sirion and Nargothrond. These were no more than _names_ to her though. _Ideas_ of places. Then again, couldn't the same be said of _New York_ or _Los Angeles_? She'd never _been_ to those places. Never seen them outside of pictures or a television screen.

"I am."

"Where is _across the sea_? Everyone _talks_ about it but…" she asked sheepishly, realizing how ignorant she sounded. "…I don't actually know what it is."

But if anything Alassë seemed almost to forget she was even there, staring up at the stars as he spoke, his mind already a million miles away. "The _Quendi_ call it _Aman_. It is a land of beauty and peace, home to the _Valar_ and the _Quendi_ who chose to make the journey West."

"Do you miss it?" Alassë looked down at her and smiled. It was a beautiful smile, but wistful and so very _lonely_. Avery felt a sudden pang of empathy towards him then. She understood what it felt like to be the outsider, far from home.

"I do."

And she took his pale hand in hers and said, "Me too."

* * *

At twenty, Avery received her first kiss.

He was a Nandorin elf, though from a separate settlement further north. They had met when he and his kin came south for a festival in her village. It was a rowdy affair, with dancing and drinking and music that played all through the night. Being fond of all three of those things, Avery of course found herself in the thick of it, dancing with friends and strangers alike and indulging in too many cups of wine. It was sometime after the moon had hit its apex that she had found herself dancing a turn with a shy elf with pretty dark hair.

"I have heard of you," He told her later, when they'd retired to the sidelines for another drink.

Avery laughed. "Only good things I hope?"

The elf spluttered, insisting that _that's not what he meant at all_ , but she waved off his concerns, unbothered.

"I know what you meant," she assured him. And she did. She was an oddity among the elves, even more so when she discovered that none of the Nandor had ever seen a human. _Ever_. As far as she knew, she was the _only_ human being in all of Ossiriand. Perhaps the only one in all of _Beleriand_.

"You are not an elf."

"Nope," Avery replied casually, taking another swig from her cup. She was definitely at least _half_ -drunk now, if not completely.

"I do not understand."

She shrugged. "I'm _human_."

" _Human_ ," he said the foreign word slowly.

Avery giggled. Yep, _definitely_ drunk.

"And what is a _human_?"

" _Me_ of course!"

Her companion sighed. "You are very strange."

More giggles. "Yep!"

"And yet…you are fairer than I imagined."

Now _that_ caught her by surprise.

"You…thought about me?" She breathed, latching onto the last half of his statement.

"Our people speak of you, here and there," His voice was low, as if murmuring a secret to her. "They say a _maia_ brought you to them. That you are a gift from the West."

She couldn't help herself, she laughed. "A _gift_?!"

"That is what they say," He stared at her then, with eyes that seemed to change color in the flickering firelight. "You hair…"

Avery blinked.

"My hair?" She glanced down at the long twisting curls draped over her breasts. "…Is there something wrong with it?"

"It is _red_."

It took a second before it dawned on her. He had never seen a _redhead_ before. Not that she was _too_ surprised. Ten years amongst the elves and not once had she seen another who shared the same cooper-red hue as hers.

"Oh…ohhh." There was a strange look in his eye then, one she'd never seen before.

It made her heart pound.

He stood suddenly, in that silent, effortless way of the elves. He stretched out a hand to her. "It is very loud here." He hadn't phrased it as a question, and yet Avery knew without a doubt it was one. Something was going to happen. Something new.

Wordlessly, she accepted the proffered hand and her companion drew her to her feet. Her stomach fluttered strangely. Silently, he pulled her away from the revelry and towards the shadowed recesses of the forest and Avery followed breathlessly. They'd didn't make it far though before her nameless dance partner stopped and turned to face her. She could still hear the music and laughter of the Nandor behind her.

He was beautiful in the starlight, his skin bleached silver and white and his black hair like spilled ink running over his shoulders. He was still holding her hand and he tugged on it to bring her closer. He was so tall!

"I never asked your name…" Avery sighed. She could barely hear hear her own voice over the blood roaring in her ears.

"Gornedhel," And then he kissed her. He tasted like summer and wine and passion.

She kissed him back.

* * *

Sometime after Avery's twenty-fifth birthday, it became clear that her rapid aging had put many of her elven brethren on edge.

At first she didn't notice their concern. She had been young and rarely took notice of the troubled looks cast her way as she grew from child to adult in a mere span of years. But the older she got, the more anxious and distressed those looks became. They'd been even more horrified when she'd told them how old she was as a child. To them, a nine year-old elven child was the equivalent of an infant!

Not that any of this seemed to bother her betrothed (and if it did, he was very good at hiding it). In fact, he seemed to take a strange delight in the subtle changes the years brought upon her. He was fascinated by every added freckle, every minuscule laugh line and fading scar. It had confused her at first.

"Doesn't it bother you?" She'd asked one lazy afternoon as they sat at the bank of a stream and soaked up the sunshine. Gornedhel had recently taken a particular interest in the fact that her skin burned under direct sunlight. Not that she felt like indulging him today, which was why she was safely huddled in the shade of a nearby tree.

"What?" He was stretched out on a rock, his legs crossed at the ankle, head back, eyes closed.

"That I'm going to die someday?"

That got his attention.

Gornedhel sat up slowly. He looked straight at her then, green eyes boring into her own. "We will all die someday."

"Not elves. Not really," Avery exclaimed stubbornly. "You're all reborn again in Aman."

Gornedhel gave her a strange look. "Is that what your maia told you?"

"Yes," She replied, as if daring him to contradict her. Gornedhel had met Alassë exactly once, several years before on her twenty-second birthday. He had been pleased and awed to meet her guardian and yet, something else had colored his interactions as well. Fear? Intimidation? Suspicion? She had never been sure and Alassë had, uncharacteristically, refused to say.

"But my kind do not go there when we die Gornedhel," Avery continued grimly. "Even Alassë does not know where." He didn't reply at first. He just stared at her with those bright eyes as if memorizing her.

"I knew what would happen when I asked for your hand.

"Why would you do that to yourself?"

He got up then and kelt down before her. She felt his fingers tremble as they smoothed up her cheeks and threaded through her hair.

"Because I love you." His kiss was feather-soft and so gentle she felt her heart squeeze in her chest. Afterwards he kissed her forehead and added, "I made my choice Ava and for good or ill I will live with it."

* * *

When she was twenty-six, Avery married Gornedhel.

Like all Nandorin celebrations it was loud and joyous and involved a great deal of alcohol. The only thing it was missing was Alassë. She wasn't sure why he didn't come, though it had left her rather distressed and disappointed. Of all the people in the world, Alassë was the closest thing she had to family. Nonetheless, the celebration commenced regardless to its missing guest and Avery was left to enjoy the day without him. And when her wedding night came along, well she was wasn't thinking about anyone but her husband at that point.

* * *

At thirty, she became a mother.

Pregnancy and childbirth had been an arduous and trying experience, but the moment her daughter came into the world that spring, quiet and perfect in every way, Avery thought it had been worth it all in the end. Gornedhel named her Gaerfinnel, for the ruddy-red hair she'd inherited from her mother.

Motherhood suited her, Avery found. Gaerfinnel was an easy child to love and care for and it helped that the whole village was as besotted with her as her parents were. And fatherhood, it seemed, agreed with her husband even more. Rarely did she see Gornedhel leave their daughter's side. Oftentimes she caught him singing songs to her or just marveling over the shape of her face or her tiny hands and feet. And for a while, Avery was happy.

She was hanging out laundry one day when he finally came to her. One moment she was fumbling with a sheet, and the next Alassë was grasping it in his steady hands and carefully folding it over the line for her.

"Agh!" Avery squeaked, nearly jumping out of her skin. It had been over five years since she'd last seen him and the easy familiarity she'd once had with him escaped her in that moment. He looked the same. Just as he always did. Shining and golden and perfect.

She glared at him.

"Nice of you to show up," It was a scathing remark and she had meant it to be. Five years may not have been very long for him or the elves, but it seemed like an eternity to her, especially now. He had missed so much. "Where have you been?"

The look he gave her then made her want to take it all back. He looked…so sad. "I never left."

"I'm sorry," Avery said quietly, her eyes drifting downwards, escaping his piercing gaze. They settled on her daughter instead, sleeping peacefully in a basket at her feet. She knelt down and stroked her cheek. "You missed my wedding. You missed her birth." The words I missed you and Why weren't you here?, floated in her mind, unsaid.

"But I was there. For everything." There was a strange note in his voice. Pained almost.

"Then why didn't I see you? Why did you hide from me?"

He stared at her for a long time, and Avery felt as if he were willing her to understand. But understand what? "I wanted you to live your life."

"I was living my life just fine when you were here. What changed?"

And then she understood.

"…It's _me_ isn't it. _I've_ changed. "

"In Aman, _nothing_ changes. Everything is always new and alive. But here…" He trailed off. "I do not enjoy watching things decay. I do not _understand_ it. I do not _like_ it."

Avery fell quiet. Alassë looked down at her with a look that spoke of a thousand things. Sadness. Regret. Pain.

"You were so young when I first saw you. And now you are not. " His words were like an accusation. He didn't say them to hurt her. He probably didn't even realize that they did. But that didn't stop them from being true.

"…I…" She began. Inside her chest, she felt her heart _twist_. "…I cannot change what I _am_ Alassë."

The maia closed his eyes. "I know." And then he was gone.

* * *

When Avery was thirty-seven she birthed a son.

The following day, she buried him.

She knew nothing of human pregnancies. She did not know that many women before her (and long after her) suffered miscarriages and stillbirths. How _could_ she when she had come to this land as a child? There were no other human women here. No one to share their wisdom of such things. The Nandor, who had always accepted her oddities and differences, now whispered to one another behind her back. Not that she could blame them. After all, elven children, though few as they were, were always born perfect and healthy. Elven women did not birth sickly babes that expired overnight. Elven women were _strong_.

For the first time in her life, Avery felt alone.

* * *

By the time Avery reached her forty-fourth birthday, she learned that no matter how hard she tried, she could not protect her daughter from everything. 

"Mama?" Gaerfinnel had said to her one day as she helped her gather blackberries. Though she was only thirteen years of age, Avery's daughter didn't look any older than a child of six or seven. Not for the first time, she wondered if she would live to see her daughter reach adulthood.

"Yes, my love?"

"Are you going to die?"

Avery felt like the breath had been knocked out of her. She turned and sunk to the ground, clasping Gaerfinnel's tiny fingers with her own. The child looked up at her sweetly, her green eyes a perfect mirror of her father's. She felt her voice waver as she asked, "Why do you ask?"

"Baurvellas said that at the rate you were going, you would not last much longer…that is not true…is it Mama?"

Ah yes, Baurvellas. He seemed to be one of the many Nandor who had grown weary of her rapid aging over the years. Where once she had been the darling of the village, now she had steadily become an object of unease and dread. And now that unease was slowly spreading to her child.

"I do not plan to leave you for many years."

The look on her daughter's face nearly broke her heart in two. "…But…you _are_ leaving?"

Avery pulled Gaerfinnel into an embrace and breathed in scent of her hair. Someday soon, she would not be here to protect her. The thought scared her more than anything.

"Yes," Her vision blurred.

Her daughter squeezed her small arms around her neck, as if by holding her there she could keep her mother from disappearing. Avery squeezed back and then pulled away to look the little girl in the eye.

"One day I will leave you, my love, no matter how much I may not wish to," She began, her thumbs brushing at the corner of Gaerfinnel's eyes even though there were no tears to brush away. "But that day is not today."

Her daughter gazed up at her with a fierceness she'd never seen in her before. "Do you promise?"

Avery smiled and kissed her child's brow.

"I promise."

* * *

When Avery was fifty, she realized that, quite without her permission, her hair had turned grey.

There were many things that she had accepted over the years when it came to her aging body. Stretch marks and wrinkles and aching joints she could bear. But her hair…if there was one thing she allowed herself be vain over, it was her hair. Her lovely red hair, the same color as a sunset. The hair that her husband loved so much. The hair her daughter had inherited and would live on through her long after Avery herself was nothing but dust.

And yet, while Avery mourned the loss of her bright locks, her husband instead seemed fascinated by the change.

"Elvish hair is not nearly so magical." He smoothed his fingers through her hair as if he were touching gold.

"Magical?" She repeated incredulously.

Gornedhel tucked a stray silver strand behind her rounded ear before sinking his fingers in and pulling her into a lazy kiss.

"My hair will never change. It will always be dark. But yours…it _shifts_ …like leaves from one season to the next." He murmured slowly near her ear. Even after all these years, he could still make her shiver with delight. "And _that_ , my love, is _magic_."

And though Avery still missed her burning red mane, she decided then and there that perhaps it wasn't all so bad after all.

* * *

When Avery was sixty, she felt the grip of mortality slowly begin to close around her.

She was slowing down now. She could feel it. Gornedhel could feel it too.

It frightened him.

And then one night, he pulled her from their bed so that he could make love to her under the stars. His touch was greedy and fervent and the look he gave her as she rocked astride him seared her skin and sent fire racing through her veins. In that moment, she felt young again.

It was the last time they made love.

* * *

Avery was sixty-six years old when she died.

If she were back in North Carolina, modern doctors would have told her that it was cancer that was killing her, that it had been for years. Not that it would have mattered. She had long ago accepted her fate. If she was going to die, she was glad that it was in her own bed, with the sunshine streaming through the open window, and the family she had made curled on either side of her.

Still…dying was _hard_.

Every breath she took was heavy and soul-rattling. The sound alone caused Gornedhel to take shuddering breaths of his own, though for very different reasons. Her daughter, nearly fully-grown now, clung to mother with the same gentle ferocity she had as a child. Avery savored the feel of both of them against her sides and fiercely hoped that they would be happy again when she was gone. She loved them too much to imagine the alternative.

On her last night, an old friend came for a very long overdue visit.

Such a shame that it was his last.

She had been sleeping with her family when he arrived, but even in her sleep she could feel his sudden presence in the room like a warm shaft of sunlight. Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled.

"Alassë," Avery breathed the name like a prayer. The maia stood at her bedside, just as beautiful and bright as he had always been, even after all this time. Slowly, so as not to wake her family, she reached out her hand towards him. He clasped it in his own and she hummed at the feel of his warm fingers.

"I…" He began and then stopped. Avery was almost shocked to see him so un-articulate. After a moment he seemed to find his voice once more and tried again. "I am sorry."

Avery smiled.

"I forgave you a long time ago."

"I am still sorry."

Her smile turned sad now. "So am I." And then, "…Will you stay with me…until the end?"

Alassë looked at her the same way he had the last time she had saw him, sorrowful and grieved, but also resolute. He squeezed her fingers.

"Yes."

And he did.

**Author's Note:**

> I think it goes without saying that any questions, thoughts, or concerns are more than welcome and I crave reviews in my inbox like a shark craves baby seals. Just sayin' (super saiyan). 
> 
> Chapter Timeframe: Spring, Year 1 of the First Age - Winter, Year 57 of the First Age
> 
> Today in "Middle Earthean History, Culture, and Geography Notes AKA Stuff I Feel Like Talking About":  
> \--> Avery spends the majority of her life in an unnamed (again, because I'm lazy) Nandorin village that sits at the fork between the rivers Gelion and Andurant in Ossiriand.  
> \--> Doriath is the Sindarin Kingdom to the northwest of Ossiriand. It is ruled by Elu Thingol, a Telerin elf (and also founder of the Sindar), and his wife Melian, a maia from Valinor. The entire kingdom is covered by a magical barrier erected by Melian to ensure the safety of her subjects against Morgoth and his ilk, thus at the time of this story, Doriath is actually one of (if not) the safest places in Beleriand.  
> \--> The Nandor were a group of Telerin elves who made the Journey West, but fell behind on the way there. Eventually, when they finally made it to Beleriand, Elu Thingol had already had his kingdom in Doriath set up for centuries. Upon their arrival though, Thingol was ecstatic to see his friends again and granted them Ossiriand (to the southeast of Doriath) to settle upon.  
> \--> If no one caught all the hints I threw in, Avery is the 'champion' associated with the Vala, Vána and Alassë is her Maiar servant. Vána (Known as the 'Ever-Young') was the sister of the more renowned and powerful Yavanna (who helped give life to the Two Trees of Valinor) and the wife of the Vala of the Hunt, Oromë. She was a lesser Vala, not as great in power as her sister or many of the other Valar, but was still highly regarded. It's not clear exactly what she is the Vala of (like how her sister Yavanna is the Vala of Nature, Aulë is the Vala of Craft, and so on and so forth), though she is most heavily associated with gardens, songbirds, and flowers. In this story I implied she was also aligned with youth, perfection, and deathlessness. Thus Alassë intruding upon Avery's life less and less as she ages, due to his not really being able to handle watching someone he loves grow old and die when he is literally the very opposite of those things. On a side-note, Melian the Maia, before becoming the Queen of Doriath, once served Vána as her hand-maiden in the Gardens of Lórien in Valinor. 
> 
> Sindarin/Quenya Name Meanings:  
> Alassë - Joy (Quenya)  
> Celondir - River Male (Sindarin)  
> Dínengel - Silent Joy (Sindarin)  
> Gornedhel - Impetuous Elf (Sindarin)  
> Gaerfinnel - Copper-red Hair (Sindarin)  
> Baurvellas - Need Strength (Sindarin)


End file.
